An ugly flush stained his cheeks. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. . The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. And he liked her. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips.
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