His bravado waxed and he asked her to what would be her first date in nearly twenty years. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening.
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