The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. Even the most sullen and withdrawn were sensitive to the penetrating nastiness of the fog. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade.
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