But Gosse began to drag her towards the door. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. ” The man hesitated. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. Too late now. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. She hated the manor. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. She looked 57 forward to when Sebastian visited.
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