Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. She told me the tale the other night, and I've only elaborated it. "There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. The soi-disant Valade escapes and takes my proof, which I have broken on his head. Always.
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