But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. She was like an angel with one wing. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. I do not wish that the soldiers there will see it shine. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man.
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