On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces.
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