He filled his pipe slowly. "We'll see," returned the thief-taker. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. But I don’t think she lays hold of one so.
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