It is but a wild threat. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. No girl with a face like that…. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness.
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