"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. She could tell that he was furious in that instant. I won’t try. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. ” “Impudent beggars,” Sydney growled.
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