He was not a sailor. ’ A hand seemed to grip in Melusine’s chest and she hit out. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. 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.
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