At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. I seed he was one,—and a sharp un, too,—at a glance. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents.
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