She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. There was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a Spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the English apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete. She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. "I see him!—row for your life!" "That's the way to miss him, master," replied Ben coolly. Plain, wide-mouthed, freckled, and ugly, she was an instantly jealous creature, her saving grace that she took no pains to mask her extreme dislike 47 of petite, pretty girls. I never even burrowed down into the trunk.
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