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a ready; it is another privilege we exercise in our little moorland home—to prepare our own meals when we are so inclined; or when Hannah is baking; brewing; washing; or ironing。”
She closed the door; leaving me solus with Mr。 St。 John; who sat opposite; a book or newspaper in his hand。 I examined first; the parlour; and then its occupant。
The parlour was rather a small room; very plainly furnished; yet fortable; because clean and neat。 The old…fashioned chairs were very bright; and the walnut…wood table was like a looking…glass。 A feen and women of other days decorated the stained walls; a cupboard with glass doors contained some books and an ancient set of china。 There was no superfluous ornament in the room—not one modern piece of furniture; save a brace of workboxes and a lady’s desk in rosewood; which stood on a side…table: everything—including the carpet and curtains—looked at once well worn and well saved。
Mr。 St。 John—sitting as still as one of the dusty pictures on the walls; keeping his eyes fixed on the page he perused; and his lips mutely sealed—was easy enough to examine。 Had he been a statue instead of a man; he could not have been easier。 He was young— perhaps from twenty…eight to thirty—tall; slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a Greek face; very pure in outline: quite a straight; classic nose; quite an Athenian mouth and chin。 It is seldom; indeed; an English face es so near the antique models as did his。 He might well be a lit
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