ToC Mrs. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. The solemn strokes were immediately answered by a multitude of chimes, sounding across the Thames, amongst which the deep note of Saint Paul's was plainly distinguishable. Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing.
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