He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. On the present occasion, he appeared to have bestowed more than ordinary attention on his toilette. The day is already half over. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. "I suspect our friend has thought better of it, and won't come," he remarked. ‘Assuming she can prove her identity, does Remenham House belong to her?’ Mrs Sindlesham shifted her shoulders. She must be beautiful, but beauty is only the beginning. "Perhaps. “I thank you for your advice,” she said.
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