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His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. "But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. " "More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow.
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