She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. I’m not discussing Shakespeare. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. “Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. "No, no!" With a gesture, fierce and intolerant, she seized the Bible and thrust it out of sight, into the drawer. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily.
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