Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. “Hey, Mike. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever.
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