“Earning a salary!” “You’re like a Princess in Exile!” he repeated, overruling her. . She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees. Where the devil have you hidden all those weapons? Don’t tell me you’ve got ’em with you. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Corporation.
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