‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of me, even I knew anything, which I don’t. ” “It’s too far for the ball to reach us,” said Miss Klegg. "I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. I hope that James will not be long with that whisky and Apollinaris.
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