Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. You've caught the colour and the life. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall rounded upon them all at the club. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. “I wonder if there is anything wrong with my manners,” she said.
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