Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. "Look to the horses, Obadiah. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience.
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