She opened and read it at once. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat. "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used.
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