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“You’re burning up. ‘Ah, the tragedy. ’ That wonderful poster—is of you. ’ ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Beauty has bloomed and faded. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. "She is saying that you, a woman, will readily understand the position in which she finds herself. Brendon,” he said, “may I rob you of your guest just for the drive home? I have only a few hours in England, and Miss Pellissier is an old friend. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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