But I know a little place where we’ll get a little quiet talk. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. Anna had told me that he carried always with him this bogus marriage certificate. “What’s that young lady’s name—girl in dark brown, stranger here?” Mr. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth.
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