CHAPTER XVIII. 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. "Do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her.
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