‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. " "Why, what the devil's this?" vociferated Jonathan, looking up. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. 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.
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