But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country. ‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. Think of those days in Paris. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. .
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