A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. And yet, dang it! I've seen 'em just as innocent looking that were prime vipers.
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