"You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of your peculiar bent. Was he pleased?” “Calmly! He said—you won’t mind my telling you?” “Not a bit. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. "I'll call you when you're wanted.
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