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Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. Good-bye aunt. She was gone. Our quarrel's quite over. In the struggle the pistol went off, but without damage to either party. Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. Stanley poured wine. ‘How fascinating. She may address me as “Grandfather” if she chooses, since I’m obliged to accept her in that capacity.
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