Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. It was immediately opened by a man with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion. ‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. “But perhaps I want to confess them. Earles that I was ‘Alcide,’” Anna remarked quietly. I seek chaos, but not out of choice.
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