“You doubted me?” She joked. For my part, I think those shackles extremely becoming. Well, kill me. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. It was a grand life. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. “For Heaven’s sake, no,” she answered quickly. I'm no great judge of these articles, Ma'am; but I trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me.
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