A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. This is a plot entirely abominable, and I scorn to be part of it. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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