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. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion. "Ja, ja, Muntmeester," said the Dutchman, removing the pipe from his mouth, and speaking in a deep and guttural voice, "leave the affair to Johannes. In this part of the world it is wise never to be separated from your luggage. She has already forgotten it. Can you wonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?” “I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so. She pulled away from him, placing her fingers on his lips for a moment. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female.
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