“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. . That is all I ask. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. The next moment his grasp relaxed, and he sank to rise no more. ‘He wanted me also to run away with him, and I wish very much that I had done so. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest.
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