His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. "We'll see that, you yelping hounds!" rejoined Jonathan, glaring fiercely at them. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service.
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