And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. "Don't touch me. Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. “If you cannot listen to me now it must remain undelivered.
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