“It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. " "And you want me to find a minister?" she asked, with ready comprehension.
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