’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. That was something in his favour. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. ’ ‘You saw? Where were you? How did you see?’ ‘Your heroic milice are not as clever as they thought.
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