I’m fine. The hotel manager was expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressive shrugs. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself.
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