His voice now had lost its ironies. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. He is steeped in the conventions. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of his day. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt.
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