’ A sudden thought brought a frown to her brow. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. “Who can tell?” she said. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had ever read. I myself have had the pleasure of dining with her.
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