“Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said. She leaned back in her chair. She gave up as he finished, spending himself in her mouth. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment.
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