I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. I consented to become Mrs. " He ignored the command. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. She had never dreamed of such decadence, never imagined that young people could be so happy and healthy. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped.
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