Courtlaw stood up. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. It wasn’t clear to me that I had to explain. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. Sheppard. " "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment.
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