I couldn’t help the thought. A woman indeed this to love and be loved, beautiful, graceful, gay. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. " "It is past," rejoined Lady Trafford, recovering herself by a powerful effort; "but never allude to the circumstance again.
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