In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. We'll celebrate that check, and let the rest of the world go hang. My trouble is with your sister.
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