Your father…. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. "I've waited supper, you perceive. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. I did not even know where to write and thank you. ” “I believe you,” she murmured. "And when I further tell you," continued Jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father.
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