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. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. . “Rather darker than most of them. Never mind, I’ve got plenty. You will be my witness, Madame Joan.
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