‘As I have said, it was a quarrel between the vicomte and Monsieur Charvill. "Brother," cried Lady Trafford, her eye blazing with unnatural light, and her cheek suffused with a crimson stain: "Brother," she cried, lifting her thin fingers towards Heaven, "as God shall judge me, I was wedded to that murdered man!" "A lie!" ejaculated Sir Rowland, furiously; "a black, and damning lie!" "It is the truth," replied his sister, falling backwards upon the couch. This was enough for the poor widow. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. I was compelled to run away.
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