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... e the window continued to fall slowly, the dense droplets nearly forming a watery curtain. Although it looked transparent, it concealed Arthur and Disraeli within the coffee shop.
Perhaps the black tea improved Disraeli’s foul mood, or perhaps he had suppressed his feelings for too long.
In the Greenwich District, an area not belonging to Disraeli’s constituency, in this coffee shop unaware of his identity, he finally poured out his grievances unrestrainedly and step by step, wal ...
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