Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. “He seems like such a nice boy. “Cheveney!” she repeated. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed.
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