She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. You want me to be clean. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. Like the flaws of an old marble.
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