She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. Trenchard glanced at the document. Armed, however, with the implement he had so fortunately obtained, he did not despair of success. 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. I tell you what, Mr.
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