” 209 Clotilde was no fool. Winny, this is the last night I shall pass beneath your father's roof. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes.
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