F. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery.
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