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It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. He hated to destroy it; but that was the obligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. "Agreed," responded the Master. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. Mrs. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him.
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