‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. It was a betrayal of God and her former family, but all in all was much easier. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage.
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