They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. ‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. “Let me help you,” he begged. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. At noon the doctor himself arrived.
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