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He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Having seen every precaution taken to ensure his safe custody, he departed, muttering to himself, "I shall yet live to see him hanged—I shall live to see him hanged. ” His face darkened. ‘I don’t know that I dare. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. She felt his whole mind sounding in ecstasy. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. Occasionally she would be missing a sock or a bra, so she took to storing those things in her gym locker. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. “What do you mean?” Lucy asked. After that consolations fled.
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