The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. His eyes were red. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience.
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