CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. No, this was imbecile. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. ” Sir John seated himself deliberately. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. ‘I must get a handkerchief.
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