’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert. “I think she would,” she decided. ’ She sniffed and swallowed. I’m taking no chances. “I have never forgotten. ’ ‘Let’s.
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