The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. She went to the table under the end window at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept and garnished with full bottles of re-agents. —"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell.
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