Montressor’s guests were. “But your sister,” he said. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Then she moved towards the door. ‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly. He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps.
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