‘Do you know, Mademoiselle Charvill, you are a thought too clever for your own good. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. Warned of the approach of the prisoners by the increased clamour, Sharples, who was busied in distributing the Marquis's donation, affected to throw the remainder of the money among the crowd, though, in reality, he kept back a couple of guineas, which he slipped into his sleeve, and running hastily up the steps, unlocked the door. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. gutenberg.
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