” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. Then he stood up and repeated it again. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. It did not seem quite fair. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. " "I'm convinced of it," replied Shotbolt; "and it was on that very account I came here. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett.
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