"In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. He agreed it was disgraceful. A quick flush stained her cheeks. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. "Do you take me for as great a villain as yourself, Sir?" said the knight, rising. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness.
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