“I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. “Yes, I believe he is. . ’ ‘Idiot. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans.
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