That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable.
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