"Well, how goes it?" he asked. When she spoke, her lips twitched. I shall always be kind to him; I sha'n't bait him. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Here, as has already been observed, condemned malefactors were allowed to converse with such of their guests as had not interest or money enough to procure admission to them in the hold.
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