"By desire of his Majesty," said the jailer, consequentially. 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. “It’s—private. ” He signed his name and reflected. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. At last the panel swung back into the library.
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