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. “Thanks, Cathy. She was, as Capes had said, a hard young woman. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. But for now, I’d like to turn in, if you don’t mind. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face.
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