" "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair. "Perhaps you don't know that this Darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, I can assure you. Her tone was hoarse with passion. " "Then I'll lend a helping hand. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. “The fees are paid to the end of the session. And nothing to tell her where to begin. Earles,” she exclaimed.
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