‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci. . At a little distance from the party, sat a tall, sinister-looking personage, with harsh inflexible features, a gaunt but muscular frame, and large bony hands. You are my wife, and I am determined to claim you. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid.
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