His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. He was a Canton guide, highly educated, having been graduated from Yale University. He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged. “Of course it is okay!” Cathy’s voice rose in volume and in pitch. So was I, in fact. He was speechless.
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