’ She counted off on her fingers. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. . didn’t have to. "Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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