The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. She recoiled. ” “You’re lucky to live in an age when you can do so.
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