No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. It’s that father of yours you take after, no question.
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