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The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from Essays of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson: daughter, whom we shall call Lizzie. If I had made any notes at the
time, I might be able to tell you something definite of her
appearance. But faces have a trick of growing more and more
spiritualised and abstract in the memory, until nothing remains of
them but a look, a haunting expression; just that secret quality in a
face that is apt to slip out somehow under the cunningest painter's
touch, and leave the portrait dead for the lack of it. And if it is
hard to catch with the finest of camel's-hair pencils, you may think
how hopeless it must be to pursue after it with clumsy words. If I
say, for instance, that this look, which I remember as Lizzie, was
something wistful that seemed partly to come of slyness and in part
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