His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. The old man Pottiswick, still grumbling, much to Melusine’s disgust, had gone on his errand to his daughter’s house some two miles distant. It’s exactly how it went down with me and Josh Durbin. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative.
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