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’ ‘Lucilla,’ gasped Hilary, his cheeks reddening with wrath. The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion.
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