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Chapter 8

           Whatdoyouthinkofher?"

           "Idon’tliketosay,"Istammered.

           "Tellmeinmyear,"saidMissHavisham,bendingdown.

           "Ithinksheisveryproud,"Ireplied,inawhisper.

           "Anythingelse?"

           "Ithinksheisverypretty."

           "Anythingelse?"

           "Ithinksheisveryinsulting."(Shewaslookingatmethenwithalookofsupremeaversion.)

           "Anythingelse?"

           "IthinkIshouldliketogohome."

           "Andneverseeheragain,thoughsheissopretty?"

           "IamnotsurethatIshouldn’tliketoseeheragain,butIshouldliketogohomenow."

           "Youshallgosoon,"saidMissHavisham,aloud."Playthegameout."

           Savingfortheoneweirdsmileatfirst,IshouldhavefeltalmostsurethatMissHavisham’sfacecouldnotsmile.Ithaddroppedintoawatchfulandbroodingexpressionmostlikelywhenallthethingsaboutherhadbecometransfixedanditlookedasifnothingcouldeverliftitupagain.Herchesthaddropped,sothatshestooped;andhervoicehaddropped,sothatshespokelow,andwithadeadlulluponher;altogether,shehadtheappearanceofhavingdroppedbodyandsoul,withinandwithout,undertheweightofacrushingblow.

           IplayedthegametoanendwithEstella,andshebeggaredme.Shethrewthecardsdownonthetablewhenshehadwonthemall,asifshedespisedthemforhavingbeenwonofme.

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