"Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. . "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat.
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