Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. Well, kill me. Major said you’d gorn. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that.
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