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. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. " "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. “I’ve broken off my engagement,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, and found her heart thumping in her neck.
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