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. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, and opened the door for her retreat. ” “How can you say such things?” “But he would!” “Still, it isn’t your place to say so.
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