She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Let me only wear your livery.
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