" "A bold resolution," said the woollen-draper. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. " With no little effort—for the right words had a way of tumbling back out of reach—he marshalled his phrases, and as he uttered them, closed his eyes to lessen the possibility of a break. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. “An Oracle is a predictor of the future. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork.
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