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“Jeeves?” I turned around to where my man uncharacteristically lingered at a shop window.
He looked abashed, if that can be a word applied to Jeeves, paragon of valets. “Sorry, sir.” Hanging from his arms were various bags of Christmas shopping for uncles, aunts and Drones members.
“What is it?” I peered around him into the window of the men's outfitter.
“Just a pair of leather gloves, sir. Good workmanship. I'll endeavour to make a purchase some other time.”
I stared at the garment which clearly had Jeeves’ name written all over it.
“Funny affair, fancy that, Jeeves, er, I just remembered I have to buy shirt studs for Eustace and Claude. Er, yes.” I hurried into the shop. Jeeves had accidentally helped me resolve that one question which had been vexing me for days.
Jeeves’ entire countenance was knowing, quiet pleasure when I exited the shop. “A good choice, sir, if I may say so.” His face had pinked lightly.