"Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. . White. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon.
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