” She looked at him wistfully, but with some unwilling doubt in her wrinkled forehead. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine. . Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “We may just as well have our talk afterwards,” she said, “and I need not keep poor Mr.
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