The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. “You will go and see her,” he begged. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. Oh God! pardon me.
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