She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. I know nothing about the matter, but I feel convinced that you are right. She let him have it all, as it was, after all, for the last time. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family.
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