The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. No pistols, no daggers today?’ ‘Would you have me show a pistol with so many soldiers? I am not a fool. And when Mr. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master.
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