’ Gerald was staring at her, an arrested expression on his face. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. “Why?” He inquired. "Iss, Massa. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay.
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