“It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. The struggle was brief, and Gerald stepped aside, the pistol in his possession, while the girl Melusine stood trembling and glaring. “No, he grabbed my hand. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. Oh God! pardon me.
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