His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. "Yes; and I hope you'll take ample vengeance upon him," said Quilt. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair.
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