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Then he turned on his heel and walked off. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. He said nothing. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. But I'll not believe it of you. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. “Your arrival is really most opportune. ” “Your sister,” he answered, “did me the honour of dining with me last night. It was hard to resist.
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