There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. "Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. ” She paused, and he waited for her to speak. Father— dead. And she did not merely affect to be driven—she felt driven. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear.
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