The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. She heard the bamboo curtain rattle slightly. One went in for painting, kept straight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago—the Lord help her. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. It was not a hopeful looking group.
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