He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. ’ Trodger had started towards the stairs, signing to his men to get behind the lady. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster.
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