Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. ‘And with my grandfather Charvill also so very angry, it was not perhaps so very comfortable for my father. It was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but I paid him back in his own coin—ha! ha!" "A countryman of yours, Terry?" "Ay, and a noble one, too, Quilt—more's the pity! You've heard of the Marquis of Slaughterford, belike?" "Of course; who has not? He's the leader of the Mohocks, the general of the Scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!" "That's him to a hair?" cried Terence, rapturously. I’m sorry. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy.
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