His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. "I hope you don't imagine anything has gone wrong, Sir. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. And the way he and the other men looked at her! The desire was plain on their faces, so many noblemen reduced to their simplest elements! They looked at her sideways, they looked at her backside, scanning her blue eyes and even looking right into her face. That's part of the bargain. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white.
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