Montague Hill. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. "Where are you going?" she asked. Last time— you made me feel snubbed. Try your luck with Jarvis Remenham—if you will.
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