He scratched his upper lip reflectively. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. She was a merry creature, it is true, and quite beautiful. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. ‘Open the door, fool!’ Then he had Melusine by the shoulders and was hustling her into the hackney. Brown broke the silence. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away.
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