James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. Sheila wouldn’t allow me to date a boy even if he was only fifteen—I mean sixteen, like I am, you see. She was quite unconcerned. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava.
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