His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. He removed his cigarette from his lips and waved it gently in the air. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals.
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