She was to be a Corsair’s Bride. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. She forced herself not to think of John.
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