She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. "But I'll yet disappoint you. With your permission, I will go on in my own way. I am sure. Something tells me I am rushing on greater danger. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. Love…. ” He was obviously puzzled. "He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. 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. "You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs. Ireton, you are in league with him.
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