” He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. " "Please!" She dropped the curtains and the manuscripts, knelt and held out her arms. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. " She laughed; and it was pleasant laughter in his ears. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. She recognized him as the man who had blundered into the wrong room.
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