She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. She sighed with relief. ” He replied lightly and stepped towards her. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. Wild.
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