His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. As they're so fond of each other's society they shan't part company even on that occasion, but shall swing from the same tree. ‘And since the entire company and Pottiswick himself were unable to find hide nor hair of the infernal French female—’ ‘English, Hilary,’ Gerald reminded him. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile.
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