The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide. He was tender with her as he had not been in years. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr.
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