She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. "Gone," replied the wounded man. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. She came into the room. “You—appear to know my name, sir,” Sir John said.
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