You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. I am five-and-thirty, and I have knocked about in the world and tasted the quality of life. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know. “No,” she answered.
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