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His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. “How are those books any different from the witchcraft books?” “I dunno. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. Befuddle yourself, if you want to. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch.
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