Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. The streets were full of colour. Spurlock had not coached her on this line of conduct. Don’t take my word for it though. "Please, Hoddy, always tell me when do I things wrong. Saviour's Stairs.
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