"You want me, then?" she said. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. "We'll see that, you yelping hounds!" rejoined Jonathan, glaring fiercely at them. It doesn’t mean that these men deserve to die for whatever they have done, John. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet. And she’s pluck to the backbone.
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