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The morning wanes, and luncheon declares itself. When it has come to an end, Mona going slowly up the stairs to her own room is met there by one of the maids,—not her own,—who hands her a sealed note. "If I were 'Geoffrey,' I think I shouldn't," says the duchess, meaningly. "You have not quite forgotten me, I hope, Mrs. Rodney. You will give me one dance?".
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"He is our landlord," says Mona, calmly, but with uplifted brows, stopping short in the middle of the road to regard him with astonishment. "Whoever he was, he hardly excelled in breeding," says Lady Rodney; "to ask your name without an introduction! I never heard of such a thing. Very execrable form, indeed. In your place I should not have given it. And to manage his horse so badly that he nearly ran you down. He could hardly be any one we know. Some petty squire, no doubt." "Thief!" echoes Paul in a terrible tone. His whole face quivers, A murderous light creeps into his eyes. "I am not going to suffer," says Mona, lightly. "Sorrow only falls on every second generation; and you know poor mother was very unhappy at one time: therefore I am free. You will call that superstition, but," with a grave shake of her head, "it is quite true.".
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