’ I received strange looks from them. The father was a madman. But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another. The theme was a masquerade. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. Her eyes quizzed the major. At that, the girl jumped up. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify.
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