And your great-niece. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. Lucy sat in back of Jane Lenihan, who never spoke to her. Annabel thought, and thought again. They were enormously pleased with one another; they found each other beyond measure better than they had expected, if only because of the want of substance in mere expectation.
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