‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. And, though it's a long time ago, I feel as sore on the subject as ever. He always followed by showering her with kisses, embracing her tightly as she squirmed and giggled. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr. Think, ma’am. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure.
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