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"No," replied Jack. ” She paused again. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. When I went I was refused admittance. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon.
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