She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. The door opened. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. "Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully.
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