"Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. " So saying, he left the room. It began in the eyes and spread to the lips: warm, embracing, even fatherly. That might happen on her birthday—in August. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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