“Soon enough, John. After you went he got up and took refuge in the preparation-room. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. She had a better voice than I, and the rest I suppose is only a trick. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat.
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