They turned the corner that joined Michelle's street to her own. She had told Emile. . ’ ‘Why should you care?’ demanded Roding, exasperated. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence.
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