“They are coming past our table. Trust you. ’ ‘Oh, that tragic pair,’ uttered her ladyship in saddened tones. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “If only her sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians talking. "Brother," cried Lady Trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "Brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards Heaven, "as God shall judge me, I was wedded to that murdered man!" "A lie!" ejaculated Sir Rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch. ’ Gerald’s eyes never left the girl. Those who had seen him slumbering, averred that he slept with his eyes open. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. “Come,” she said.
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