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. " "Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone. One has to be so careful. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. ” “Why?” she asked. G. “I’ve got bad faults.
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