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“Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. 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. And girls and women, perhaps, are different. I didn’t understand. I only arrived when everybody was coming away. Home!— which I never hoped to see again. 17 up-train. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph.
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