"Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears.
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