’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. ‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done.
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