He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. The room seemed a vacuum. They had cried a little, both. “A volatile temperament—yes, a volatile temperament,” Mr. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. “It’s the spring,” he said. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. And because of this hanging gold Ah Cum left many doors open to doubt. " There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters.
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