“You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. ‘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. The detective rapidly sketched the appearance of the room in his notebook, and picked up the pistol from under the table. It was not a hopeful looking group. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments.
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