Dad-a-jum, dad-a-jiggers, goddam lobsters bit off your fingers," King said, and actually laughed.

What I am?’ he said. He laughed. ‘Don’t wait. Ask anyone in London, or Malta, or Russia.’ He made his way to the casement and flung it open. The rumour of a crowd, muffled hitherto by the windowpanes, burst fresh upon them. The courtyard and the road beyond the gardens were jostling with people, and the name they were calling was audible: Sevigny. Sevigny. Sevigny.

It is good news, worthy of all acceptation; and yet not too good to be true.

Written By Matthew Henry

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