Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. "Why, what the devil would you have had me do!—make myself scarce, eh? You should have tipped me the wink. . She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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