He moved her dress from her shoulders and off her torso. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. She turned to face him and he kissed her. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. Besides, it was under false pretences. I told them lies.
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