Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. She must weigh her situation. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. I would that you were my own.
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