She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Her English was halting. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it.
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