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Thus Doatie, looking preternaturally wise, but faintly puzzled at her own view of the question. A sob escapes her, and falls heavily on Geoffrey's heart. He is not proof against a woman's tears,—as no true man ever is,—especially her tears, and so he gives in at once. "I fear there is no doubt of it, sir," says Jenkins, respectfully, who in his heart of hearts looks upon this timely accident as a direct interposition of Providence. "And the messenger who came (and who is now in the hall, Sir Nicholas, if you would wish to question him) says Dr. Bland sent him up to let you know at once of the unfortunate occurrence.".
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She turns involuntarily, through the innate courtesy that belongs to her race, to return his parting salutation, and, looking at him, sees a tiny spot of blood trickling down his forehead from the wound received awhile since. "Try not to hate me," he says, imploringly, in a broken voice, going suddenly up to her and taking one of her hands in his. His grasp is so hard as almost to hurt her. Mona awakening from her reverie, turns to him with a start. Something in his face moves her. There is admiration blended with relief in her tone, and Geoffrey begins to feel like a hero of Waterloo. They threw his bones out of the door, where they fell among many others like them. The ground was strewn with the bones of the persons she had trapped and killed..
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