" "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. He threw up his hand, reeled for a moment on his feet, and collapsed upon the floor. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. . ” He left her where she was, crying in the doorway.
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