He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. ‘They cannot be worse than mine in English, monsieur. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink.
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