She paused. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Then she goes to a dramatic agent. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. For she knew that men married to get something. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. .
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