His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. Sheppard stopped him. Oh, you cannot escape from it. By the side of her plate was a small key. “We don’t pretend. ” She disengaged herself from him and went out of the room with a grave, preoccupied expression. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance.
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