She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. All of us were fussy, colicky babies from what she tells me. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said. Meanwhile, the clergyman, bare-headed and in his surplice, advanced to meet them. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned.
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