And on Monday and Tuesday she had failed to find him here. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. ’ Fresh suspicion kindled in his breast. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended.
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