Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. ‘But I am perfectly serious,’ he returned in a voice of protest. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell.
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