Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. He felt no pain from this cowardly kick. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. The Master of the Mint was accompanied by another gentleman almost as portly as himself, and quite as deliberate in his movements. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way.
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