Arthur Conan Doyle,
The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes
“ As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. “What’s this, Dawson!” he cried. “No gossiping! Go about your business! And you, what the devil do you want here?” “Ten minutes’ talk with you, my good sir,” said Holmes in the sweetest of voices. “I’ve no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no strangers here. Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels.” ”
