He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. I’m not such a bad sort. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes.
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