From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be.
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