“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. One OUGHT to want to please her. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really.
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