The aunt laughed. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs. “Gracious!” she exclaimed to herself. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. He hated horizons. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope.
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