I’ve been on the watch for you. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief.
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