’ Then she came closer and put her hand on his chest so that it rested on the braid that decorated his scarlet coat. I do not even know his name. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs. Of all the entirely English women I know, you’re the only one with a French accent. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. With a well-simulated unconcern and a heightened color she finished her breakfast.
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