Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. “A glass slipped from the table,” he explained. He made her tell him the core of the difficulty. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living. "That's a good story, lad.
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