But we get over it. “But, dear, think! He is your father. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too.
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