Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. She waited expectantly. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. It was such an unexpected stroke of fortune.
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