She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. He flew to the window, and would have passed his sword through the thief-taker's body, if the latter had not quickly interposed the person of Mrs. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. I am quite clear about this.
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