My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. ” “I believe you,” she murmured. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. But he has never been near her—never. She looked up quickly. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived.
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