Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. None at all.
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