They rose as she approached. She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. . Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves.
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