" "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire.
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