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His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford. They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features.
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