By instinct. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me.
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