He dared not go on. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. I promised to put him in touch with some people in Rome, an idea which he warmed to. Amid this varied throng,—varied in appearance, but alike in character,—one object alone, we have said, rivetted Mrs. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. . It was not a difficult affair. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. To this Jack replied, that he should be perfectly contented, provided he might have a small allowance of gin. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy.
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