His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. She asked the inevitable question, the one she knew Michelle was waiting to field like a quarterback anticipating the pass. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. She is a woman chosen in youth for her beauty and her intelligence. .
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