Squire and master. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames.
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