The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. There it is—against you. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly.
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