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"When he held the pistol to your forehead, didn't you scream then?" asks Violet. With mingled feelings he quits his home, and all the way up to London in the afternoon train weighs with himself the momentous question whether he shall or shall not accept the unwilling invitation to the Towers, wrung from his mother. "I am sure we shall all be very glad," she says, faintly, feeling herself bound to make some remark..
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It is the 20th of February; already winter is dying out of mind, and little flowers are springing everywhere. From morn to dewy eve, nothing is discussed in bower or boudoir but flounces, frills, and furbelows,—three f's that are considered at the Towers of far more vital importance than those other three of Mr. Parnell's forming. And Mona, having proved herself quite in good taste in the matter of her own gowns, and almost an artist where coloring is concerned, is appealed to by both girls on all occasions about such things as must be had in readiness "Against their brydale day, which is not long."—As, for instance:— "It is all your doing. How wretched we should have been had we never seen you!" she says, with tears of gratitude in her eyes. "There is no need for regret, darling," says he. "I am heart-whole, and I know no woman that loves me, or for whose affection I should ask, except yourself.".
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