\" Diane Vorsack chirped with the grin of a Cheshire Cat, extending her right hand in greeting. He frowned. 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. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. " "Only as a brother?" persisted Kneebone.
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