Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. "By the avenger of his family's dishonour—by your brother," he replied, coolly. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.
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