‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. He was not used to not getting his way. Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins.
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