She was like an angel with one wing. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. “How has the world taken it?” he asked. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. He must never refuse her anything which was within his power to grant—anything (he modified) which did not lead to his motives. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. At least I imagine so, if what Madame Valade claims is true. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. Rowland and his companions instantly started in pursuit, leaving the lady to recover as she might.
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