It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. He wore a black tail coat buttoned tightly over his chest, and a large diamond pin sparkled in a white satin tie which had seen better days. ‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding. He turned.
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