She had expected a love story; and love was totally absent. "Where are the packets committed to your charge by Sir Rowland Trenchard?" "The packets!" exclaimed Kneebone, in alarm. Doctor says depositions to-night. Wild—" "I did," interrupted Jack; "and I never yet broke an engagement. ‘Tell me what you know of Miss Charvill?’ he ordered severely. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. You’re all dependents—all of you. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am.
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