He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “I have my methods. My poor brain is so mixed, dear, I hardly know what I am saying. For a while he threatened her. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life.
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