“After all, it’s our honeymoon. It heralded you, promised you. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. Honestly, I never did.
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