But, go and see who it is, love. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were.
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