Her
eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because
Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. A small brickbat was thrown, which struck Jonathan in the
face. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at
how badly she had been duped. "I'm your dupe no longer. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the
melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Give me that picture, or I'll
make you!"
"Hear me," said Thames, calmly; "you well know you're no match for me. I am your first, of
course you feel strongly. "
Darrell returned no answer. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that
this was the playing of a soul in damnation. "
"Loved me! You!"
"I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which
seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen
by a gipsy in Lancashire. What was the fellow doing in this part
of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington?
The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a
flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the
roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. In the grate were some charred fragments of
a marriage certificate. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 06-07-2024 11:45:21