‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. Darrell's eyes were of that clear gray which it is difficult to distinguish from blue by day and black at night; and his rich brown hair, which he could not consent to part with, even on the promise of a new and modish peruke from his adoptive father, fell in thick glossy ringlets upon his shoulders; whereas Jack's close black crop imparted the peculiar bullet-shape we have noticed, to his head. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. Her head swam. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. Confidence in himself would strengthen him.
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