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. “I believe that he would bore me. ‘All right, Trodger. The moment they cease to be serviceable, or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter's settled. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. ’ She grimaced. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. "But I'll yet disappoint you.
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