He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. For a few minutes all was silent. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. His literary instincts were reviving. He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance.
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