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Then the color flushed over her cheek at his lightest word, and he found a real interest in watching it glow and fade from her pale face. "She's the sort of brune that colors well," he thought. "Old Sir John's fancy of 'Her cheek was like a Cathrine pear, The side that's next the sun' suits her exactly.
His eyes were fixed, his face was pale, his jaw hung down; and he flung out his arms and said, in a maudlin voice, "Oh, you byoo-oo-oo-tifile Cathrine, I must have a kick-kick-iss." "Beast!" said Mrs. Catherine, and pushed him away. The drunken wretch fell off the sofa, and on to the floor, where he stayed; and, after snorting out some unintelligible sounds, went to sleep.
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