“Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. I'm sorry. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. “He dissembles,” he said. ‘Then it must certainly be Eugénie. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars.
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