She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. The Times slipped from his fingers. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter.
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