But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. There is a tragedy to come.
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