Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. " "Enough!" rejoined Blueskin.
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