She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. The villain has enjoyed his security too long. "And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. Wood's reception of the widow, who, at that moment, was ushered into the room by Winifred, was not particularly kind and encouraging. " "I am here in Canton," she replied, simply. She was quite assured that she would never see him again. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. "I'll make myself intelligible before I've done," rejoined Wild.
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