After all, she was a consummate actress. 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. ‘What are the chances, do you think, of that thing being already cocked?’ ‘Probably not even loaded,’ suggested Hilary hopefully. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. This is not true at all. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said.
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