A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. 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. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. He made it more and more evident to her that her proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. My heart misgives me.
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