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The flush on her face had faded and her color was ghastly, a grayish white, the pallor of an anæmic; the many short hairs on her forehead and temples hung straight in her eyes, the filmy flounce of her gown was torn and trailing, while a scraggly bunch of Russian thistle clung to the chiffon ruffles of her silk drop-skirt.
She was trembling so that her knees sent little ripples down the tight white silk drop-skirt. "You can't ditch me like this and get away with it. You and me can't can't part peaceful. You can't throw me over after all these years for a little squint-eyed hank and get away with it! By Heaven! you can't!" He drew tight fists to his sides, his lower jaw shot forward.
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