"From Mr. ” He raised his hand, and they saw that he was holding a small revolver. 'Slife! you are wonderfully altered. ‘This, as you see, is an identity for your cousin, André Valade. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. “Stop,” he said.
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