. . Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. ” There was silence between them. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Behind Mrs. Still, his robust frame enabled him to hold out. Very well, then. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life.
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