" "You don't say so!" exclaimed Shotbolt. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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