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Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap.
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