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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. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement. His eyes swept the company, and fell upon Melusine with a glare. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. There will be no avoiding it.
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