The evenings were dulcet and soft. ’ He frowned again. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. I seed he was one,—and a sharp un, too,—at a glance. "At length, my vengeance is complete. She passed inside and upstairs without a word.
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