Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Instead of which, more than half an hour has elapsed. “The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself. I don't want her hurt. But there was something in his face at once stupid and invincible that told her he would go on forcing himself upon her, that he would esteem speech with her a great point gained. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. Ladies with weapon’s on ’em.
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