. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. Among his books, Plutarch's Lives, and the Histories of Great Commanders, appeared to have been frequently consulted; but the dust had gathered thickly upon the Carpenter's Manual, and a Treatise on Trigonometry and Geometry. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. She pulled, he rose to his feet. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. He opened the drawer of the writing table. Suddenly she had become afraid. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. You are my prisoner, murderer. ‘Can you not open it?’ she cried. ’ ‘About me?’ The lady’s lashes fluttered and her fan came up.
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