He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. ‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel.
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