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The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself.
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