A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. "What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. "Don't ask me about it now.
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