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That face which, hundreds of times, had been so close to her own, and something about this crumpled body, about his tumbled hair, those cheek-bones, and the hollows beneath the pale lips just parted under the dirt-gold of his moustache something of lost divinity in all that inert figure clutched for a second at Gyp's heart. Only for a second. It was over, this time! No more never again!
His face was pale, and went strangely with hair and moustache of a sort of dirt-gold colour, and his thin cheeks with very broad high cheek-bones had little narrow scraps of whisker. Those little whiskers seemed to Gyp awful indeed, he seemed rather awful altogether but his playing stirred and swept her in the most uncanny way.
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