The simile started a laugh in his throat. A question next arose whether the prisoner could be executed under the existing warrant,—some inclining to one opinion, some to another. "Ah!" ejaculated Mrs. "I can't make you understand; I can't make you see things as I see them. You represented to us the immaculate Briton, the one Englishman who typified the Saxonism, if I may coin a word, of our race. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black.
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