James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. " "Do you happen to know Jonathan Wild, master?" inquired Jack, altering his tone, and assuming a more respectful demeanour. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. ’ ‘What offer?’ she asked, suspicion rife in her voice. No, don’t let me call myself that.
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