“Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. The hansom drove off. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia.
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