” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. I hate what I have to do to survive. They were both dressed in every respect alike. ” Annabel laughed hardly. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service.
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