James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. The eggs were all right, but nobody in this part of the world had the least conception of what the coffee bean was for.
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