John finally wrested her away from the company of his parents, insisting that he wanted to take a walk in the park before it was completely dark. “Oh, Michelle, I’m such a miserable fool. She pointed across the road. But the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent.
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