The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. I saw them both. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. "Let me go first," said Blueskin; "the dogs know me. His physical body was predictably paralyzed with shyness and fear of rejection, barely soothed with a series 51 of blatantly direct requests and compliments.
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