A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. In any place her beauty would have been an uncommon thing. Over the chimney-piece was pasted a handbill, purporting to be "The last Dying Speech and Confession of TOM SHEPPARD, the Notorious Housebreaker, who suffered at Tyburn on the 25th of February, 1703. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. And yet it was basically a fine action. There's the grand laced coat he wore at his trial, which I intend for my wedding-dress. " The little urchin set off, and presently returned with the sexton. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. \"The servants will hear you!\" \"I don't care! Why do you?” She cried.
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