Either Sydney or Mr. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. ‘You have every right to be angry with me. And here you are!” Her aunt opened all the fingers of her gloved hand in a rhetorical gesture. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. "I'm going back for Ruth. Explain to Sir John our feelings. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived.
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