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. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt. !" "I understand," interrupted McClintock.
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