Later, she would sew it on. There haven't been so many ladies in the Lodge since the days of Claude Du Val, the gentleman highwayman; and they all declare it'll break their hearts if he's scragged. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. This way, my dear—and— you’ll excuse my mentioning it, but a quiet blouse and a little chiffon, you know, will be quite sufficient. But her request was unheeded.
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