She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. ‘You little fool! I’m a trained soldier with ten years experience at my back. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you.
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