And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. " "The very face," exclaimed Gay, advancing to look at it;—"with all the escapes written in it. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes.
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