“I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. . A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. It was the largest room in the house, which was why it had been given over to the main business of the convent as a house of God. 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. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure.
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