She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. ‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly. I can't spare you at present. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension.
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