Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. Their future would be glorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of their young heads. She could no longer wait. ‘That is, if she’s gone that way. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. "You have all the world before you.
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