Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. Save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night.
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