His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. Mr. “Will he die?” she asked. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands.
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