Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. He singled out my poor husband from a crowd of other felons; and you know how right he was in that case, Sir. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself.
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