He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. “Uh, can you get me a soda or something?” She said, shielding her exposed teeth with her hand. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
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