Even on that evening His pace was slow and precise. As expected, His black shoes carried none of the muck and mud that was strewed as a squalid carpet across the city streets. His black cloak was, conspicuously, of the finest fabric; His ebony cane was unused, as if for Him it was but a clothing article, and His moustache glistened from oil and smelled of ambergris. Every piece of His apparel betrayed the fact that were He married, His wife would have doubtlessly been treacherous.
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