The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Except that this music we have been swimming in is divine. "Go to your own room, woman, directly, or I'll make you!" "Make me!" echoed Mrs. Perhaps the doctor, the manager and the girl were in collusion: perhaps they had heard indirectly of the visit paid by Mr. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes.
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