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Stanley pronounced, and seemed to hesitate whether he had not gone too far. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. If they become bad it is through inclination, not necessity. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. If they entered a shop, he paused by the doorway, as if waiting for the journey to be resumed. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Why is the door fastened? Open it directly!" "Are you alone?" asked Jack, mimicking the voice of Kneebone. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat.
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