‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. "I haven't worn anything else in weeks. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. ” “I hope,” he answered, looking at her in some surprise, “that we shall have many more such to think about. 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. “What can you do?” she asked. We've made a pretty penny by him—sixty guineas this blessed day. Here you only waste your time. Oddly, Sebastian chose to be charioteer. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More.
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