“It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. He destroyed her clumsily made dolls whenever he found them. This she put into the trunk. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for.
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