’ I wanted, as I have never wanted before, to take you up, to make you mine, to carry you off and set you apart from all the strain and turmoil of life. Lucy wore it every day from then on. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you. 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. " "Why, my love," rejoined her husband, "appearances, you must allow, were a little against you. “What I am after is that beauty isn’t a special inserted sort of thing; that’s my idea. Here it is.
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