Smith, placing his hand on his breast. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption.
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