Here are their letters. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. Then a surge of rage welled up. ‘André? Que dit-il?’ ‘My wife does not understand,’ said the fellow, frowning deeply. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core.
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