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“Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. " "You'll dance upon nothing, presently," rejoined Jonathan, brutally. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. Just as I might have killed another, if he had come out. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul.
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