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. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. ” “I like the mystical way,” she said. Jack Sheppard is now wholly in my hands. Wood required little pressing.
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