Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. Without Jack, it was certain that she faced danger if she went outside Golden Square. "By the way," said the doctor, as he sat down in the dining room of the Victoria and ordered tea, "I've been thinking it over. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “Please don’t be sad.
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