He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. The rejection caught him like a slap in the face. Lucy could feel blood welling underneath a bump half swelling and already half-healing on her scalp.
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