“I wondered. But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. "From Lady Trafford's, where I took the box.
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