" Sir Rowland's brow darkened. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. It has. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame.
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