Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him.
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