I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. Prudence shook her head. He was disquieted. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. “There was an accident with a pistol in Miss Pellissier’s room,” he said. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. I am always reinventing myself with new styles.
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