It probably still wouldn’t help. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. Her eyes were perhaps a little brighter than usual, the firelight played about her hair, there seemed to him to be a sudden softening of the straight firm mouth. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once.
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