It was ten feet long, a relic. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. He could imagine it even if he could not feel it. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. So that it seemed to her the whole world had changed —the very light of it had changed. It wasn’t pretty.
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