" "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. " "It is past," rejoined Lady Trafford, recovering herself by a powerful effort; "but never allude to the circumstance again. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Who were you looking for tonight? One of the émigrés? There were several in there. He must know she’ll be at a convent. ‘More nor that. Give me the keys and the light.
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