‘I wish you joy of the wench. ‘You’re right. He had not remembered her as looking so small. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. How provoking!" she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; "one never can find a thing when one wants it. . Hurry to me, I entreat you. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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