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He could scarce have kept it from Tara, the sister-child who had shared all his thoughts and dreams; but the grown-up Tara had become too remote in every sense for a confidence so intimate, so sacred. To his father he would fain have confided everything, remembering her last command; but Sir Nevil's later letters though unfailingly sympathetic were not calculated to evoke filial outpourings.
It was in the middle of the second night that the Count continued his recital of the result of the intrigue with his mother. His sister-child, for she was both, was born in his first year's exile. Beyond his mother's description of her, that she was growing up a beautiful girl, the image of her father, meaning her son, the Count, he had no other intelligence of her.
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