Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. ‘You mean—’ ‘Hilary!’ Lucy turned excited eyes back to Alderley. 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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