Word: paddington
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They can't. There is no Running Donkey at Paddington. There is a Running Horse: it shuts at ii p.m. There are two pubs called The Cock at Euston, but neither is open before 11:30 a.m. As for The Eagle, South-wark-it shuts just when you say it opens...
...starts out at a pub with a normal closing time. At 10:30 or11 p.m., he moves on to Paddington Station's Running Donkey, which serves thirsty porters until 3 a.m. After that he dashes over to Smithfield Market, where he can drink until 6 a.m. with the city's meat loaders. Then, it's off to Kemble's Head at Covent Garden, where the vegetable loaders can drink until 8:30 a.m. Next comes The Cock at Euston Station and, finally, The Eagle at Southwark, which opens after lunchtime closing and closes at evening opening...
...damp midday gloom of London's worst fog in seven years, prostitutes were dimly visible as they patrolled their familiar stations in Soho, Piccadilly and Paddington. The chilling smog also seeped through tightly closed windows into the House of Commons, where Home Secretary R. A. ("Rab") Butler was opening the second reading of the Street Offences Bill, aimed at clearing those same girls off the sidewalks of London...
Every night last week-except twice when it rained-the mobs surged through London's seedy Netting Hill and Paddington districts. In Latimer Road, Soapboxer Jeffrey Hamm roared that Fascist Sir Oswald Mosley's Union Movement had warned five years ago that racial flare-ups would result from the government's "open-door" policy to Negroes from the colonies and Commonwealth. "Deport colored people found guilty of crime!" he shouted. From the crowd of 2,000 teenagers came a hissing, ecstatic "Yesss!" A carload of Negroes went slowly by, and 200 screaming Teddy boys peeled off from...
Only occasionally did Morland take pains to work out a painting carefully. One of his last and best canvases was painted while Morland was visiting his sick wife in Paddington two years before his death. Just released from prison, Morland painted himself, attended by his manservant Gibbs frying sausages. From his self-portrait Morland looks out with watery, disconsolate eyes. At his feet Morland painted what might well have been his own grim epitaph, an overturned glass and bottle, both empty...