“What are you doing?” he asked. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. When she came to, she was lying with her head in Martha’s lap, and a livid bruise was forming at the point of a raging headache.
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