“I’ll turn you here. I believe you’ve crushed a gland or something. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. . Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. “Couldn’t we three go out and have some coffee somewhere? The thought of that drawing-room paralyses me. ‘I knows how to do better nor any surgeon. ” They entered the place, a pleasant little café of the sort to be met with in the outlying parts of Paris.
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