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She was on her knees beside

all the while in a soft voice that I thought wonderfully sweet to

hear

"Poor boy!" she was saying, over and over again, "poor boy!" And

after she had said it, perhaps a dozen times, I opened my eyes

and looked at her

"Madae in hand, she

drew back and looked at me

A wonderful face--loed, deep-eyed, full-lipped The eyes

were dark and swiftly changeful, and there was a subtle witchery

in the slanting shadow of their lashes

"Twenty-five!" she repeated, "can it really be?"

"Why not, reatly taken aback "Indeed, I--that is--"

But here she laughed and then she sighed, and sighing, shook her

head

"Poor boy!" said she, "poor boy!" And, when I would have

retorted, she stopped e

"Your reat gash in your brow"