She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. “Has she ever thought of buying a pair of foam earplugs?” Lucy asked. Gerald would not marry her even with a dowry. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. Her eyes quizzed the major. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over.
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