The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. Say something. Langley," rejoined Mrs. " "The same who was here just now?" "No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. I’ve had enough of it. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad.
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