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"What are you going to do with that lovely old shawl she brought you, Elinor?" she asked, tossing the end of her long braid over her shoulder and yawning luxuriantly. "I'd like to make a party dress of that heavenly silk cloak I got, but it seems like cutting up one's own grandmother." "Not at all," rejoined Jen, coldly. "I can understand her reason for telling the lie. She wanted to shield--" Patricia, protesting, dragged herself from the restful nest, but by the time they had begun to arrange the gay little bags of candy in the big red Japanese lantern, she was as enthusiastic as Elinor could wish..
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Conrad
"Lies, lies, lies!" said Jen, scornfully. "If I could only--but enough of this for the time being," he added, abruptly. "We will talk of these things on a more fitting occasion." Lastly Etwald. It is difficult to describe the indescribable. He was austere in face, like Dante, with hollow cheeks, and a pallid hue which told of midnight studies. If he had passions, they could not be discerned in his features. Eye and mouth and general expression were like a mask. What actually lay behind that mask no one ever knew, for it was never off. His slightly hollow chest, his lean and nervous hands, and a shock of rather long, curling hair, tossed from a high forehead, gave Etwald the air of a student. But there was something sinister and menacing in his regard. He looked dangerous and more than a trifle uncanny. Physically, mentally, morally he was an enigma to the bovine inhabitants of Deanminster and Hurstleigh. Griffin it was, in the highest good humor and bursting with news. She did not wait to get out of her coat before she began to unbosom herself to them both, alternately addressing each in turn. "I could not get Isabella further than the door of your house," exclaimed Mrs. Dallas, who was in deep mourning, whether for Maurice or David, or for the loss of Dido, it was impossible to say..
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