We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. "He has passed this way," cried Jonathan, exultingly; "I have him safe enough. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. Drive away the cat; throw that measure of gin through the window; and tell me why you've not so much as touched the packing-case for Lady Trafford, which I particularly desired you to complete against my return.
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