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. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. “Not only that,” he answered. There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister.
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