Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Sheppard, fervently. I'll keep a look out that nothing happens. Stanley,’ I said. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent.
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