A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. My birth certificate was destroyed when the county building it was housed in burned down. I expect company. Then her eyes flashed. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. But her cries, instead of moving her assailant's compassion, only added to his fury.
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