What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. " "So did I," said Winifred. The pearls were really yours?" "They were left to me by my mother. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. " "Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love.
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