The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. " "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. She could read that Martin had a crush on her and was perhaps even going to try and challenge John as he was the bold sort. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. She spoke slowly. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood.
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