” “It’s dreadful for you to be here,” he said, indicating the yellow presence of the first fog of the year without, “but your aunt told me something of what had happened. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. Enschede's daughter. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice.
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