Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. You don’t have to live forever to understand that. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. Her hips were wide and her athletic legs supported a very large rear end, which she flaunted by 140 wearing her gym shorts two sizes too small. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced.
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