“This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. ” His shoulders relaxed. Can’t travel alone, a pair of nuns.
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