Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. ” She lifted steadfast eyes to him. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo.
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