" "Well, I never was more surprised in my life," said the poet,—"never!" "He's just the man I expected to see," observed Hogarth, who, having arranged everything to Thornhill's satisfaction, had turned to look at the prisoner, and was now with his chin upon his wrist, and his elbow supported by the other hand, bending his keen gray eyes upon him, "just the man! Look at that light, lithe figure,—all muscle and activity, with not an ounce of superfluous flesh upon it. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say that such ignorance was beyond her. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. "You won't betray him. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she.
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