For a time Spurlock did not move. ‘But you are idiot. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes.
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