It was not
till later that Laura came to know them all so very well, but her eye
rested on them one after another with approval as she drew near. Without
pausing in his chant--it happened to be one of triumph--without even
looking at her, the leader indicated an empty chair. It was his own
chair. "Colonel Markin, S. A.," was printed in black letters on its
striped canvas back; Laura noticed that.
After it was over, the little gathering, Colonel Markin specially
distinguished her. He did it delicately. "I hope you won't mind my
expressin' my thanks for the help you gave us in the singin'," he said.
"Such a voice I've seldom had the pleasure to join with. May I ask where
you got it trained?"
He was a narrow-chested man with longish sandy hair and thin features.
His eyes were large, blue, and protruding, his forehead very high and
white. There was a pinkness about the root of his nose and a scanty
yellow moustache upon his upper lip, while his chin was partly hidden by
a beard equally scanty and even more yellow. He had extremely long white
hands: one could not help observing them as they clasped his book of
devotion.
Laura looked at him with profound appreciation of these details.
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