‘But I don’t trust you an inch. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging. E. Maggot lent her powerful aid, and, between the two, Jack was speedily relieved from all fears of being carried off against his will. But it's French manners, I suppose.
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