All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love.
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