The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Light the lantern. " CHAPTER XIII.
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