She was as fair as the lily of the lotus. Charvill does not believe the general will accept them. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.
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