"Brother," cried Lady Trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "Brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards Heaven, "as God shall judge me, I was wedded to that murdered man!" "A lie!" ejaculated Sir Rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch. “I don’t see why not,” he answered. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. “He is not—I don’t like him.
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