On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless.
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