It makes wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good enough for Punch. The first was to break a dinner engagement. He tore his gaze away, aware of the quickening of his heartbeat. His spirits began to rise. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. "Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter.
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