He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. C. ’ Leaning down, she raised the hem of the petticoat of her habit to reveal a neat little pair of boots on her feet. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. But she had loved the man. I'll wait here.
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