"That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said. "It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried Trenchard. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. “No, I am alone,” she answered.
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