His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. Everybody seemed greatly concerned about the sincerity of Tolstoy.
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