The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. His glasses were gone. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Accordingly, he was introduced to the two military aspirants at the Cross Shovels in the Mint, by our old acquaintance, Baptist Kettleby. ‘Nothing would do for her but to come here,’ grumbled Hilary, wiping his heated brow with a pocket handkerchief dragged from his immaculate white uniform breeches.
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