‘But this Englishwoman,’ asked the man Valade, his puzzlement plain to see, ‘who was she?’ The question irritated Charvill. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. It would be difficult to find another human being subjected to so many angles of attack as Spurlock. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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