The air was pungent and leaden. Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging. She kept opening her eyes and looking at it. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. Basically a kindly man but made cynical and derisive by sordid contacts, O'Higgins had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as unselfishness. "The plot's out!" cried Jack.
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