But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. She had better escape if she can. " "Graves. Well, I shall be sorry to lose him, Mr. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. "And someday let him care for me!" She sprang up, alarmed. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you.
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