Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. Wild, and his uncle, Sir Rowland Trenchard. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. “Yes. Beauty has bloomed and faded. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city.
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