How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Dinner consisted of three courses. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. All these circumstances,—slight in themselves, but powerful in their effect,—touched the heart of the widowed carpenter, and added to his depression. "I am accounted a fair shot, as well as a tolerable swordsman, and I will give proof of my skill in both lines, should occasion require it. Above her head was an aura of white fire. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do.
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