It was the girl. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. If you will think only of one trifling aspect—the inconvenience it must be to us to explain your absence—I think you may begin to realize what it all means for us. “I am going through the other rooms.
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