"As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. I have been around them for long enough. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. He did not move. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home.
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