gutenberg. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. Happy Thanksgiving. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. But not so much a pig as that man.
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