Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. It struck the major that she was very young.
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