‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. You needn’t be in any doubt about it. She did not forge a note. Darrell's eyes were of that clear gray which it is difficult to distinguish from blue by day and black at night; and his rich brown hair, which he could not consent to part with, even on the promise of a new and modish peruke from his adoptive father, fell in thick glossy ringlets upon his shoulders; whereas Jack's close black crop imparted the peculiar bullet-shape we have noticed, to his head. He awoke, strangely content. That added to his puzzle. Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar.
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