“I don’t know, John. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. ’ His colour deepened.
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