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"Oh, go on; do," says Mr. Darling, in a second aside, who is by this time a brilliant purple from fear and indignation. "Bribed him?" says Mona, in an indescribable tone. "Perhaps that is what makes me so nice," retorts Miss Mona, saucily, the sense of fun still full upon her, making him a small grimace, and bestowing upon him a bewitching glance from under her long dark lashes, that lie like shadows on her cheeks..

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"Yes,—and miserable! you forget to add that. Now everything seems squared. In the grave neither grief nor revenge can find a place. And as for you, what have you to do with my fate?—nothing. What should you not return to me my own? and why should I not die by the weapon I had dared to level against yourself? There is a justice in it that smacks of Sadlers' Wells." "I am afraid you are right," says Mona. "Oh, why did you come over at all?" "I hardly like to ask her to do it," says the young man, divided between an overpowering desire to be made "comfortable," as she has expressed it, and a chivalrous fear that the sight of the nasty though harmless flesh-wound will cause her some distress. "Perhaps it will make you unhappy,—may shock you," he says to her, with some anxiety. The stranger is advancing slowly: he is swarthy, and certainly not prepossessing. His hair is of that shade and texture that suggests unpleasantly the negro. His lips are a trifle thick, his eyes like sloes. There is, too, an expression of low cunning in these latter features that breeds disgust in the beholder..