"Can I help you, Jack?" asked Thames, taking up a plane. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. ” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. It's infernally provoking.
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