But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury. "I would treat him as you treated his father, Sir Rowland. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. I have had my day; and there were women in it. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. But it was the form of her ruling determination; it was the only form that she ever allowed to see daylight.
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