Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. 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.
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