You see to what it has brought you. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. See paragraph 1. Read it, and you'll find that your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in Lancashire. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations.
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