We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. John’s parents were won over. That is what stands between us, if you would know—that. It was the grand nursery of vice. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. Did you warn Frith?’ ‘Yes. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one.
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