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. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. They clapped wildly afterward. You met Sir Rowland at the house of a Romisch priest, Father Spencer.
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