" Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. “Some afternoon. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her.
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