‘I lived with the Valades for some years. ’ Martha frowned. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Look somewhere else in life. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. But for now, I’d like to turn in, if you don’t mind. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. All right, I’m coming. It’s these damned novels. ‘All this gadding about. As to Jack Sheppard, he appeared utterly reckless and insensible, and did nothing but whistle and sing the whole way.
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