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. Move. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand.
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