Then his beard was of a reddish hue, and his complexion warm and sanguine. "What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. ’ ‘It is true,’ insisted the lady. "The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner. ” She smiled at him broadly and kissed his cheek. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. ” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper.
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