’ ‘She?’ scoffed Martha. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. But men are so careless, there's no trusting anything to them! However, I must try to brazen it out. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world.
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