So kind, so good to me always. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white.
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