I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. He looked half at her and half at the sky. Rowland felt himself sinking beneath the powerful grasp of his enemy. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. He was brooding over her, she could sense it, and the shadowy circles around his lovely dark eyes bespoke a terrible ongoing insomnia.
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