" "Do not talk thus, dear mother," returned Jack, gazing anxiously at her pale countenance, "or I shall not be able to quit you. It’s a lake among precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake. "The Wastrel seemed to take it all right. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. ’ She shook her head. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is.
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