He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder.
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