On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?” “For Heaven’s sake no,” she declared. I never saw a man who wasn't. Just a formal marriage. 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. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. She wanted to live.
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