She floundered deep. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. ’ Dieu du ciel, but she was a fool. . Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. ’ ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong.
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