"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. My trouble is with your sister. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. ‘Nothing. "How, Sir?" "Except by adoption. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round. “Are you free tomorrow? Should I call?” He asked. “Afterwards,” she said, “I should be perfectly content to have everything done for me. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin.
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