“What did it matter?” she cried. "And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them.
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