Uncle Bernac - A Memory of the Empire by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
page 78 of 213 (36%)
page 78 of 213 (36%)
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wish to have my life upon your conscience, never let him suspect that I
have said a word to set you on your guard.' 'Your life!' I gasped. 'Oh, yes, he would not stick at that!' she cried. 'He killed my mother. I do not say that he slaughtered her, but I mean that his cold brutality broke her gentle heart. Now perhaps you begin to understand why I can talk of him in this fashion.' As she spoke I could see the secret broodings of years, the bitter resentments crushed down in her silent soul, rising suddenly to flush her dark cheeks and to gleam in her splendid eyes. I realised at that moment that in that tall slim figure there dwelt an unconquerable spirit. 'You must think that I speak very freely to you, since I have only known you a few hours, Cousin Louis,' said she. 'To whom should you speak freely if not to your own relative?' 'It is true; and yet I never expected that I should be on such terms with you. I looked forward to your coming with dread and sorrow. No doubt I showed something of my feelings when my father brought you in.' 'Indeed you did,' I answered. 'I feared that my presence was unwelcome to you.' 'Most unwelcome, both for your own sake and for mine,' said she. |
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