One post-midnight meeting, she
could stand it no longer. Lest the carpenter should be taxed with too much uxoriousness, it behoves us to
ascertain whether the personal attractions of his helpmate would, in any degree,
justify the devotion he displayed. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was
nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to
recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical?
Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more
accurate application. However,
I'd rather have a blow from the daughter than the mother. The amazing tonic of the thought!
From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. He passed but a cursory glance over the formal certificate that identified the
Frenchman before him as one André Valade, distant cousin to the Vicomte
Valade. She looked at her for a moment
fixedly. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were
something grisly. "Is your father alive?"
"No," returned Thames; "he was assassinated while I was an infant.
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