Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. How I wish I might meet this delightful mystery lady of yours. “But how can you?” asked Constance. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. "You are angry?" "Very. "I am one. Look out, it’s coming.
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