That’s my advice to you. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. He's the only native I trust in these parts. You care for me just a little, I know. Also she had tried him as a dragoman and as a gendarme, which seemed the most suitable of all to his severely handsome, immobile profile. But it's better to have the bride without the weddin' dress, than the weddin' dress without the bride.
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