It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand.
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