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. Lost me place, that’s all. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. " "But how in the Lord's name was she brought up? There's a queer story back of this somewhere. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo.
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