He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. ‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’ With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. " And, having partaken of a hasty breakfast, he set out. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks.
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