Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. I naturally want to do it up in proper style. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. 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.
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