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. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. “We don’t let to ladies,” they said. " "You are right, Sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising.
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