‘Shall we abandon the guard, then, sir?’ ‘Certainly not. On the contrary. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. He hugged her when he saw her in the hallway. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. He stepped back further. White. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent.
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