“His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “Our interest lies in heading them off. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. .
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