“You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. Have you seen much of her lately?” “Nothing at all,” he answered. He divorced her. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. Stunning and continuous, the din seemed almost to take away the power of hearing.
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