" "Don't listen to him, father," cried Thames, unconscious of what was passing; "there are plenty of people outside. But I'll never part with your irons. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid.
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