” He consumed Irish stew for some moments. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. Those with true power were the Oracles. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it.
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