She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. She made noises between weeping and laughter as she went. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. At present the world waits for that writer, and the confused record of the newspapers remains the only resource of the curious.
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