Although she had refused to answer his impertinent questions. Go easy. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. Her unnatural calm was giving way. All human food tasted equally dead and loathsome to her, whether it was prime steak or cheap hamburger. Their conversation hung. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. I do forgive him; but he will never know now.
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