. Then she went below. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. "That he couldn't choose any one so agreeable to me. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. What is it?" "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. "Not so," replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. .
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