In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Don’t take revenge on him because I’ve wronged you. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. Here was a terrific figure gnashing his teeth, and howling like a wild beast;—there a lover, with hands clasped together and eyes turned passionately upward. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live.
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