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. . She pushed the former and it opened. A woman such as I am might help take care of Mr. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish. . Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. “And somehow or other,” she added, after a long interval, “I must pay Mr. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme.
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