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. “Oh, you can act!” she cried. “All right?” he asked. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie.
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