Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. Don’t be afraid that I shall stunt it. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. And the less “anything” happened the better. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast.
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