But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. ‘Aye, sir. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. “Of course,” he ventured, “I could try for more at the ‘Alhambra.
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