“Don’t come nearer!” she said. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. No doubt they've all been rejected; but he couldn't throw them overboard. All of a sudden, there was movement behind him. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then.
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