"You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. “Sir John is not at all that sort. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. " "Didn't some of them … try to touch you?" "Not the true unfortunates. Perhaps that other boy who visited you backstage at the concert. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf.
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