Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. She remembered him as a dull figure, a big man with a belly that was already showing fat under his fine scarlet clothes. Another horseman followed quickly at the heels of the first; but just as he passed the spot where Jack stood, his steed missed its footing, and fell. ’ He scratched his chin as if he thought about it, but covertly kept a careful study of what he could see of her face.
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