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‘That’s better,’ said Gerald, and let her go. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton. She felt she had stepped into a world of unknown usages.
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