It was enough. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. Rollo barked. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. .
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