But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Sebastian knew a dozen languages and could speak them fluently, plus he had an aptitude for numbers that Gianfrancesco did not. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. She was going through with that, anyhow. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude.
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