” He looked at her intently. I don't believe he is much past forty. ‘You can’t go to England. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend.
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