Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. “I’m being honest with you. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion.
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