“I should like you to come here,” she said. I am not afraid that you may try to make love to me. She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. ” He contradicted himself by plunging into an exposition of motifs. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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