I wasn’t. According to Wu, the young man had not opened his eyes once during the afternoon. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd.
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