There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. Little by little, she stopped hating him.
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