Marvel. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. Go, and let him in. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. "I shall kill her if I stay longer," muttered her son, completely terrified.
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