"It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. You can pay me when we return. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose.
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