“You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. He looked half at her and half at the sky. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness.
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