" "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. Lucy entered the room. “Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement.
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