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Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. "And you, Marvel, you must have been a party—" "I, Sir!" "If he's not found, I'll get a new hangman. I——” She threw herself into an easy chair. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. I was grateful.
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