He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. "I told you the prison wasn't built that could hold me," cried Jack. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher.
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