"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. She glared at him with satisfaction. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. Then the lady smiled and her radiance, even in the darkness, warmed Gerald unexpectedly. ” Lucy chuckled at the sacrilegious comment, though it was a very old one. Show him no quarter, Poll.
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