She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. . “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. Something in her tone made him look up. ’ ‘You see,’ Melusine explained between mouthfuls of food, ‘poor Marthe had promised to my father that she will say nothing.
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