“You’ve got to take the decent reasonable way. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. Darell's peculiar bent of mind was exemplified in a rusty broadsword, a tall grenadier's cap, a musket without lock or ramrod, a belt and cartouch-box, with other matters evincing a decided military taste. She then opened Lucy’s meager closet and plucked out a pair of heeled boots usually reserved for weddings and funerals. "Why, how the devil did you happen to guess that?" cried the janizary. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly.
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