His face was white. It was now a quarter past twelve. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. Why are you so anxious?" "Oh, if you can't see your way…. Now keep still. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. This is retribution. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed.
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