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Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. “But your sister?” he asked. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. One who—who—tres. A common rage flushed their faces. Figg," replied Jack, smiling; "for, before I'm taken to Tyburn, I mean to borrow a shirt for the occasion from you.
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