But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. By the side of her plate was a small key. Used to play together, we did, all over Remenham House. “Let me know the truth.
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