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. His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. He's on the ragged edge.
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