Then a ride to London on horseback. Cathy opened her beauty shop, you know. He had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared.
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