He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia. But we can’t help noticing. Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. Deep silences came between them. It’s just upon my lunch-time.
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