Clientèle was of the most transitory character. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. “Drive towards St. Spurling, "I hope he may never see Tyburn. "That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor.
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