“For Heaven’s sake, Dunster, don’t let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. There were two. Stanley poured wine. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. You must tell me what it all means. Abruptly she got out of bed, smoothed her sheet and straightened her pillow and lay down, and fell almost instantly asleep. I admit it. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often.
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