"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. A fever of shame ran through her being. The policy of this step was immediately apparent. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. "Damnation!" exclaimed one of the leaders of the party in a furious tone, snatching a torch from an attendant, and throwing its light full upon the face of the carpenter; "this is not the villain, Sir Cecil. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch.
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