Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. The note-passer lagged behind with her. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. But probably not the truth. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock.
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