She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. "Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. ‘Couldn’t even trouble to make a pretence of motherhood. She pulled herself together and put her eye to the eye-piece. I’ve no name for it yet.
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