As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin.
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