She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. One cannot trust any man at all. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. ‘You’re either mad, or in love.
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