’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. I declare I'm almost afraid to go to the door.
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