In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. ‘Say it. I will not be persecuted in this way by you. ” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable.
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