On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. Her head ached with a hollow pain. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. Neither of them believed me.
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