Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. "Troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but I couldn't belave it. “No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit can be. He was—a millionaire.
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