Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. That might happen on her birthday—in August. The world had not passed by but had gone around it in a tremendous half-circle. I was curious about that. Ireton and Langley had returned from a second unsuccessful search; Marvel had come thither to bid good-night to Mrs. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. And the woman who showed this room was tall, with an understanding eye and the quiet manner of the well-trained servant.
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