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As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. ” She looked up at him quickly. Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about. What reassured her, however, more than anything else, was the shape of the mouth: it was warmly turned. "I never wear false whiskers," went on O'Higgins.
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