His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. “I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. Your face has flitted out of my watch-fire, and then I have been a haunted man. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. A slow anger burned in the man.
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