And Pottiswick, of course. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. If Emile can see him, then so also can I.
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