He hadn't played fair. Her aunt went off at a tangent. When the twins had first come to live in the 208 house, they were thin and bony, their tiny mouths crying for food. 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. “I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent.
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