“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. ” Her eyes were lit with humour. E. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears.
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