There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. Sheppard, relieved by their departure, and giving way to a passionate flood of tears; "were it not for my child, I should wish to be in the place of that unfortunate lady. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. The major himself told me that this secret passage started upstairs.
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