’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. That’s my advice. Always the other things remained. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. You cannot arrest yourself. Not these twenty year. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese.
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