He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. It is good sometimes to walk with a man who can look God squarely in the face, as you can. Get on, do. Brown, Lucy, and Martin Chen were at the center of the joyous horde. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music.
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