The Master of the Mint was accompanied by another gentleman almost as portly as himself, and quite as deliberate in his movements. "Before either of you go, you will ask my permission," said Jonathan, coolly. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. But, by Jove! it’s going to make our loving a fiercely abstract thing.
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