"I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. ” “And what about this man—Mr. 5. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. He looked at her, hurt. She would have to leave very soon. He, next cautiously tried the door, but found it fastened inside.
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