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. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. ’ ‘Well for him,’ remarked Captain Roding. It was hard to resist.
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