"The poor young man!" sighed Angelina. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this. “You poor little girl!” he cried. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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