Life is two things, that’s how I see it; two things mixed and muddled up together. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage.
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