He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. 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. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. Mr. Rhea commanded her. O'Higgins wandered into this street and that, studying the signs and resenting the Britisher's wariness in using too much tin and paint. One from 1966, a yearbook photo reprinted in a newspaper. ’ He bowed. You need not be afraid. I struck him across the mouth, and across the eyes.
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