It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. Not Trodger. " "And by whom were they both destroyed?" demanded his sister, raising herself by a painful effort, and regarding him with a searching glance.
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