"Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. When I am leading a true life, a pure and simple life free of all stimulants and excitements, I think—I think— oh! with pellucid clearness; but if I so much as take a mouthful of meat—or anything—the mirror is all blurred. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Here would be a woman perfectly unrecognizable, strong, ruthless but just. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour.
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