Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. “What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house. The hotel on the Peak had the aspect of a fairy castle.
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