His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the face. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. I suppose you will think me very unsisterly and cold-hearted, but there are circumstances in connexion with my sister’s latest exploit which are intensely irritating both to my husband and to myself. "I guessed what was coming. He, however, made no remark at the time, but instantly prepared to set out.
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