She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. “Let me introduce you to Caesar,” he said; and she patted Caesar’s neck, and remarked how soft his nose was, and secretly deplored the ugliness of equine teeth. “My dear Anna,” he answered. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. It was Blueskin. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands.
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