She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. The subject matter was generally worthless, but the handling was well done. “It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so little in return.
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