“I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. . I really must leave you now. Or did he? Perhaps he had found another.
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