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Mr. Richard Gilbert, a New York lawyer, entering five minutes before the start, found only one place unoccupied near the door. The old hard farmer held the upper half and moved grumpily to the window when Mr. Gilbert took his seat. The month was March, the morning was snowy and blowing, slushy and slushy, as usual in the Canadian March morning. Mr. Gilbert, inwardly congratulating himself on having gotten a seat by the stove, opened the damp Montreal True Witness and settled down comfortably to read.