Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. “Molly and you settled about the rooms. 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. "It's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag. He kept that, but the rest. “For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly.
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