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"I do not understand," she says, very proudly, throwing up her head with a charming gesture. "And, talking of forgetfulness, do you know what hour it is?" "'7—4,'" murmurs she, absently, still staring intently at the wall. "I quite forgot about the driver," says Geoffrey, beneath his breath. This remark is unfortunate. Mona turns upon him wrathfully..
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"Welcome," said the man, and he motioned to a place where the stranger should sit. When the old man has gone, Mona goes quietly up to her lover, and, laying her hand upon his arm,—a hand that seems by some miraculous means to have grown whiter of late,—says, gratefully,— Mere beauty of form and feature will fade indeed, but Mona's beauty lies not altogether in nose or eyes or mouth, but rather in her soul, which compels her face to express its lightest meaning. It is in her expression, which varies with each passing thought, changing from "grave to gay, from lively to severe," as the soul within speaks to it, that her chief charm dwells. She is never quite the same for two minutes running,—which is the surest safeguard against satiety. And as her soul is pure and clean, and her face is truly the index to her mind, all it betrays but endears her to and makes richer him who reads it. The man kept on and travelled a long distance. At last, after many days, he came to a lodge—a strange lodge, for it was made of stone. Just like any other lodge it looked, only it was made of stone. This was the home of the Raven chief. The man entered..
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