. “What do you think of that?” he asked. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. “I didn’t ask you to get married. We're to be given a treat to-night.
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