"I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. And I have no more the pistol. His face clouded with anger. Since then he has persistently annoyed me. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence.
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