He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. ‘What’s this? Impertinence! French manners, is it?’ ‘Grace à vous,’ Melusine threw at him fiercely. "Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography. He brightened as she took off her hood. But shurely I'd know that vice," he added, turning his lantern towards the janizary.
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