“I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. Sailors would leave them at the trader's. “It couldn’t be. You are afraid of the warmth in your blood. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint.
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