He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. "What's the matter?" he cried. "What will you do?" asked Thames. 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. “Just at present my mind simply won’t take hold of this at all.
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