The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. “Was it really only this afternoon that I met you in St. Sepulchre's church was covered—so was the tower. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze.
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