He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. "You forgot your lunch," she said. Men of action by the scarlet coats with their grey facings—insignia of the county militia. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. Petite build, like herself.
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