It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. The moment she entered the room and he rose, she felt that she was immediately consigned to the circle of strangers; and it emptied her heart of its joy and filled it with diffidence.
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