’ The expression on Emile Gosse’s face was vicious under the smile. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. He was well mounted, as was his companion; and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time.
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