He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. “And let’s have a look at you, Vee!” said Mr. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. Here a little delay occurred.
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