” He shook his head slowly, smiling mysteriously. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. 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. “They are full of the usual foolish stories. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour.
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