I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in. Nicholas is dead. It is Thérèse. "You are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale.
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