The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. “Life—things—I don’t think her prospects now—Hopeful outlook. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. —'They can't, I tell you,' says I, in a bit of a passion; 'it's unconstitutional. ’ ‘Yes, but how are you going to find her?’ ‘I will ask—’ She broke off. Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. "I know you'll not deceive me.
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