” An immense gulf seemed to open between father and daughter as he said these words. The militia were in already. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Before you have lived—” He became darkly prophetic. ‘By the by, get Trodger to send up one of our best men, will you? Someone discreet. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. ” Sir John’s reply was incoherent.
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