. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones. I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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