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As Jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed after him. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. Our ideal had fallen. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. "And when I further tell you," continued Jack, "that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. "Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady.
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