The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. \"Can I get your ticket?\" He asked her as she approached the vendor. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society.
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