The manager tells me that you are an American. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. I have brought disgrace upon you, and I haven’t been the right sort of wife at all. ‘She would not tell me. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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