Her eye met his four inches away, and his was glaring, immense, and full of resolution, a stupendous monster of an eye. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. Certainly, there wasn't a thing in the pockets. He had taken it back.
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