"I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. “What was that?” she asked sharply. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. ” He saw her into the train at Waterloo, and stood, a tall, grave figure, with hat upraised, as the carriage moved forward slowly and hid him. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought.
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