Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. " "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. Mind, I am anticipating events. Stanley poured wine. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. The Ragged Edge. He yelled to her, asking her if she wished to have a drink with him, which she refused. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame.
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