’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning. You never can go back. ’ Even as they watched, a shadow passed across one of the apertures. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised.
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