You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. None at all. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters.
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