“I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with it. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. And I do not know you. ‘It is all the fault of that lantern. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child.
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