I couldn't accept anything from you. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. Manning displayed distress. 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. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you.
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