"When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. "A thousand dollars in British pounds!… A thousand dollars for four short stories!" The tan on Spurlock's face lightened. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features.
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