‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. ‘Precisely. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. "Rather a devil," groaned her son, "to have done this. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Miss Mary to the life. Sir John once more looked around him.
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