She reflected before answering. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. "The long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned Sharples with dignity, "the Markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health. . But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands.
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