The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. No umbrella either, the sky was delightfully overcast. It was my destiny to have her. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf.
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