" "Yes, there was one," observed Ireton. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. ’ ‘Ah, but why remain penniless? After all, your grandfather Charvill—’ ‘Again with the grandfather? Mon ami, if you imagine that this grandfather will welcome a daughter of Nicholas Charvill, whom he has never forgiven that he married a Frenchwoman, then you have an imagination entirely wrong. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him.
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