“I wish I didn’t swear. I am afraid, Anna, just a little afraid, that in Paris I and my friends here might seem a trifle advanced. The ring's yours, and you're mine. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. 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.
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