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"Must you really go, Geoffrey?—really?" asks Mona, miserably, looking the very personification of despair. She has asked the same question in the same tone ever since early dawn, and it is now four o'clock. And Geoffrey, who is blind to nothing that concerns her notices all this, and secretly determines on taking her away from all this foolish persecution, to London or elsewhere, until such time as their own home shall be ready to receive them. Nolly, mistrustful of Geoffrey's silence, goes up to him, and, laying his hands upon his shoulders, says, quietly,—.
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Conrad
She sighs. There is pathos and sweetness and tenderness in every line of her face, and much sadness. Her lips are slightly parted, "her eyes are homes of silent prayer." Paul, watching her, feels as though he is in the presence of some gentle saint, sent for a space to comfort sinful earth. Behind her rises a tall shrub of an intense green, against which the soft whiteness of her satin gown gleams with a peculiar richness. Her gaze is fixed upon a distant planet that watches her solemnly through the window from its seat in the far-off heaven, "silent, as if it watch'd the sleeping earth." "How d'ye do, Mrs. Rodney? Is Lady Rodney at home? I hope so," says Mrs. Carson, a fat, florid, smiling, impossible person of fifty. "Then, thank you, Mrs. Corcoran, I will have a potato," says Rodney, gratefully, honest hunger and the knowledge that it will please Mona to be friendly with "her people," as she calls them, urging him on. "I'm as hungry as I can be," he says..
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