Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. But perhaps if people didn’t like clear, bright, healthy eyes—which is biologically understandable—they couldn’t like precious stones. And if I don’t, I go mad. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause.
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