Kneebone. The one I have is a duplicate. He's a cutie. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. I even offered him back the half interest he had sold to me.
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