. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. “I want to speak to you.
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