“There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. Jack had no sooner taken his place in the cart, than he was followed by the ordinary, who seated himself beside him, and, opening the book of prayer, began to read aloud. She felt a cheat and a sneak to his unsuspecting retreating back. It has been a real honeymoon trip, Annabel, for I feel that it has given me a wife. 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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