“I have not the least idea who he is. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. I trust you will not accuse me of discourtesy if I express my pleasure that henceforth our ways will lie apart. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait.
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