No more. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. Let me make your future for you. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights.
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