"Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. ” “You see I do. All they left it was the moon and stars. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. Springing to his feet in an ecstasy of terror, he stumbled, and had well nigh realized his worst apprehensions. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist.
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