He leaned forward to better drink her in. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her. 260 “Can you turn me into one?” “Yes, I can turn you into one tonight. .
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