" Lady Trafford sighed deeply. Twenty-one, twenty-two. I don’t think of you as a kid. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. ‘That’s wicked, that is. Here we are. She became exceptionally considerate and affectionate with her father and aunt, and more and more concerned about the coming catastrophe that she was about to precipitate upon them. I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 21:43:38