“Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. As it was, my oldest and trustiest setter, Abraham Mendez, received a blow on the head from one of the lads that will deprive me of his services for a week to come,—if, indeed it does not disable him altogether. He ran back to his car, glancing only once at the man in the car. Do get your hat, and we will go to that corner café. Here, turnkey. He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. He was silent. ‘Ha! Just the person I want.
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