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The ready tears spring into Mona's eyes. She is more deeply, passionately grateful to him for this small speech than he will ever know. "No," said the man, "I was not lost. My wives tried to kill me. They dug a deep hole and I fell into it, and I was hurt so badly I could not get out; but the wolves took pity on me and helped me or I would have died there." To the surprise of everybody, Geoffrey takes no open notice of his mother's speech. He does not give way to wrath, nor does he open his lips on any subject. His face is innocent of anger, horror, or distrust. It changes, indeed, beneath the glow of the burning logs but in a manner totally unexpected. An expression that might even be termed hope lights it up. Like this do his thoughts run: "Can it be possible that the Australian has caved in, and, fearing publicity after last night's fiasco, surrendered the will to Mona?".
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"That's right, then," says Mona, quite pleased at her success. "Now make him your best curtsey, Dolly," says Mr. Darling, seriously; "it isn't everyday you will get such a pretty speech as that." "I seek my wife," said the man, "whom you have stolen. There hang her eyes." "Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor cold clay lies her only solace, lets her head fall forward upon it..
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