So, when I tell you she loves you, I know. By a sort of instinct. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise.
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