Earles scratched his chin for a moment thoughtfully. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside.
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