” “But I love you. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love.
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