A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. The only thing they don’t fight over is the addition. ’ ‘A French ghost?’ ‘Well, it ain’t a rat this time, Major, I can promise you that,’ Pottiswick had rejoined, his tone affronted. Then they rode off at speed. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. She’s taken my sword. The key is in my trousers.
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