For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present. Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife. "Women ought never to show themselves on these occasions, unless they can behave themselves properly. “What of her? Have you quarrelled with her?” The girl shook her head. 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. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. Beneath that tree let us lie.
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