Just then, a carriage drawn by four horses, drove furiously up to the Six Bells; but Jack was too much absorbed to take any notice of it. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
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