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I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely.
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