His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his.
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