A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. She is, in her way, a dear. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so.
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