So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. “He is evidently a friend of Mrs. But she was disappointed. If I had been your companion only, and not your master, I might very well have been content to accept you for what you seem. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. It had been her home for hundreds of years. He could not doubt it. Wanted a clean sweep for elbowroom. The fascination of the idea of throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the hand clenched tightly.
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