Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. “I was never so clear in all my life as I have been in this business. Darrell stopped, and drew his sword.
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