There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. " "I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. She exited solemnly, retrieving and carrying Michelle’s unconscious figure into the forest like a reluctant bridegroom. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
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