Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She formed a habit which embarrassed Spurlock greatly, but at first he dared not complain. “Homely?” “Well, yeah, that’s what he said. He dug about in his mind for a term to fit her, and he came upon the word new. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly.
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