The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. Including the wings, it presented a frontage of five hundred and forty feet. They moved fast. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. “Very well,” he said, “I will go.
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