The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. He has given orders that no one is to disturb him. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. It seems only yesterday that she was running down the Avenue, all hair and legs. ‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London.
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