So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. Don't feel fussed upon my account. ‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. ‘That he can say he was married only to Suzanne all the time. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner.
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