That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. ’ ‘Yes, but if it is only we that know, it is of no use at all to me.
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