Her hair was the one part of her that did not exude the air of wealth. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. People are brought up to be so shy about money. “My dear Anna,” he answered.
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