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"Fourteen and six-half," he said, holding the coins in his left hand and
stroking his chin with his right. He verified, by patting, the presence
of a pocketbook in the breast pocket. "Five, fourteen, six-half," said
Mr. Hoopdriver. "Left."
With the Norfolk jacket still on his knees, he plunged into another
silent meditation. "That wouldn't matter," he said. "It's the bike's the
bother.
"
No good going back to Bognor.
"
Might send it back by carrier, of course. Thanking him for the loan.
Having no further use--" Mr. Hoopdriver chuckled and lapsed into the
silent concoction of a delightfully impudent letter. "Mr. J. Hoopdriver
presents his compliments." But the grave note reasserted itself.
"Might trundle back there in an hour, of course, and exchange them. MY
old crock's so blessed shabby. He's sure to be spiteful too. Have me
run in, perhaps. Then she'd be in just the same old fix, only worse. You
see, I'm her Knight-errant. It complicates things so."
His eye, wandering loosely, rested on the sponge bath. "What the juice
do they want with cream pans in a bedroom?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, en
passant.
"Best thing we can do is to set out of here as soon as possible,
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