“Heavens!” she exclaimed. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me.
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