‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. ’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically. It was not a hopeful looking group.
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