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 believe I'll tear them up. “Well,” she admitted. She was silent. " "Ah! Now I can get a perspective. The gong will go at seven-thirty. ” She peered at him through the semi-blackness.
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