Both the janizary and the skipper arose as the others entered the room. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. She attacked his hair resolutely. “But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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