“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. A few seconds sufficed to clear the passage, through which it had previously cost him more than two hours to force his way. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. Wood. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous.
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