Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. 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. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am. " "What's the matter, Ruth?" asked Spurlock, anxiously.
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