"Ah, of course, she's a jolly, `perfect' lady; but, after all, I'm a fellow, don't you see? that's--well, getting on. The child leaned her ringletted head against her mother's sleeve, gazing on the picture, and murmured as if fascinated: --The beautiful Mabel Hunter! As if fascinated, her eyes rested long upon those demurely taunting eyes and she murmured devotedly: --Isn't she an exquisite creature? And the boy who came in from the street, stamping crookedly under his stone of coal, heard her words. The wind of the last day blew through his mind, his sins, the jewel-eyed harlots of his imagination, fled before the hurricane, squeaking like mice in their terror and huddled under a mane of hair. " "You opened the letter?" "I opened it.
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