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. It was all highly intriguing. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. He might solve the riddle. Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. “She can’t. . Use the gilt, man!" "There's no need of picklock or crow-bar, here, Mr. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude.
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