One of the coolies held the paper lantern. ‘Gerald had to change both shirt and breeches. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. It proved to be a human head, though with scarcely a vestige of the features remaining. "And now, to your own concerns. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. "No, Sir Rowland," replied the attendant, "as you proposed to ride to Saint Albans to-night, I thought you might choose to see him yourself.
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