Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. The back windows of the houses (where any such existed) were strongly barricaded, and kept constantly shut; and the fortress was, furthermore, defended by high walls and deep ditches in those quarters where it appeared most exposed.
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