He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She intercepted the glance the spinsters exchanged, and immediately sensed that she had said too much. At least one of them was caught and put away. ’ ‘We are not all of us so empty-headed, Melusine,’ pleaded Miss Froxfield. "You are all right?"—anxiously. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed.
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