When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried. She had no intention of fighting fair. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. ’ A wary look came over her face, and Roding intervened. I will lay them all at your feet. That is what I don't understand. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation.
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