"You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and between ourselves I am not sure about it myself. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis.
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