“That doesn’t touch the question I asked you,” she said. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. She realized that no man had ever placed a mantle of respect upon her as Sebastian did; respect for more than just her pretty face and her now lost ability to bear children. "Why, you don't think as how they're crimps, do you?" Ben inquired.
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