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His clothes had never caught up to him, for his trousers always failed by two inches to grasp his shoe-tops, and his coat had a terrible struggle to touch the top of his trousers. For the shortness of the sleeves he partly compensated with a pair of bright red worsted wristers.
When he bent his elbows the sleeves flew up his arms, and these wristers became the most conspicuous thing in his whole attire. Ira was holding his book in the correct position now, so I saw a length of bare arms embraced at the wrists by brilliant bands of red. "'My manors, halls, and bowers shall still be open at my soveryne's will," chanted the boy.
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