These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect. As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds.
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