Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. "Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. Maggot. Darell's peculiar bent of mind was exemplified in a rusty broadsword, a tall grenadier's cap, a musket without lock or ramrod, a belt and cartouch-box, with other matters evincing a decided military taste. Ramage’s bitterness passed as abruptly as his aggression.
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