‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved.
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