‘I do not steal,’ declared the lady hotly. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Don’t you think? Tum, tay, tum, tay.
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