"To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. And he had destroyed all this. . It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation.
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