“In a sense—yes. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. ‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. " O'Higgins threw out his chest, gave it a pat, and smiled. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned.
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