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CHAPTER I. His attraction for her was now written plainly on his freckled face, revealed by the many drinks he had imbibed. “I love you, you know. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. I've another reason for supposing he'll pay me a visit. . “When are you going away?” He asked. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance.
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