Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. "These writer chaps are queer birds. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. Things now began to wear so serious a aspect that a messenger was secretly despatched to the Savoy for troops, and in half an hour a regiment of the guards arrived, who by dint of great exertion succeeded in partially dispersing the tumultuous assemblage. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. He removed his cocked hat and came towards her. “Some of them seem to be having an awfully good time too.
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