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Clarice was from Lombardy, fair-haired and light skinned. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. .
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