She had delicate oval features, light, laughing blue eyes, a pretty nez retroussé, (why have we not the term, since we have the best specimens of the feature?) teeth of pearly whiteness, and a brilliant complexion, set off by rich auburn hair, a very white neck and shoulders,—the latter, perhaps, a trifle too much exposed. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. It's precisely what such a simpleton would do.
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