His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. Though they do, in secret, I believe. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them.
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