“What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. Taking off his stockings, he then drew up the basils as far as he was able, and tied the fragments of the broken chain to his legs, to prevent them from clanking, and impeding his future exertions. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse. “I’m sorry.
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