" "It matters not who I am," replied Jonathan, taking the money. "From Lady Trafford's, where I took the box. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. "Shall I never see that sweet face again,—never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—nor listen to that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you. “There wasn’t. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing.
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