In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. ‘And this is not all,’ went on the lady, evidently determined to disclose all her wrongs. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done.
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