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He was as tall as Lord Hawbury, but was broad-shouldered and massive. He had a big head, a big mustache, and a thick beard. His hair was dark, and covered his head in dense, bushy curls. His voice was loud, his manner abrupt, and he always sat bolt upright. "Any thing up, Sconey?" asked Lord Hawbury, after a pause, during which he had been languidly gazing at his friend.
"Wulfstan said that he went from Haethum to Truso in seven days and nights, and that the ship was running under sail all the way. Weonodland was on his right, and Langland, Laeland, Falster, and Sconey, on his left, all which land is subject to Denmark. "Then on our left we had the land of the Burgundians, who have a king to themselves.
Why, man, what woman could resist a claim like that, especially when it is enforced by a man like Scone Dacres? And, by Jove! Sconey, allow me to inform you that I've always considered you a most infernally handsome man; and what's more, my opinion is worth something, by Jove!"
Dacres was silent now for a few moments. At length he looked at Hawbury with a very singular expression. "Hawbury, old boy." "Well, Sconey?" "I think we'll keep it up." "Who?" "Why, Kitty and I that is, Mrs. Willoughby and I her name's Kitty, you know." "Keep what up?" "Why, the the the fond illusion, and all that sort of thing.
Her sister Ethel is certainly a deuced pretty girl, though." "Sconey, my boy, I'm afraid you're getting demoralized. Why, I remember the time when you regarded the whole female race with a lofty scorn and a profound indifference that was a perpetual rebuke to more inflammable natures. But now what a change!
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