Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. “What a hypocrite you are. Hell's curses! that after all my precautions I should be thus entrapped. Of course I knew all about him years ago, and he is exactly like everybody’s description of him. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. I want to make my own selection. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. ’ The fury welled. “You do not even know what you are talking about.
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