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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. “You do not even know what you are talking about. Have you ever tried to run and jump in petticoats, Mr. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. . . Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep.
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