Her father’s step quickened to a trot. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. ’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction. But the world didn’t do that. 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. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached.
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