"Leave him to me," he said. ” His voice assumed an easy detached tone. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. Lucy stood relieved that she had not messed up the solo. Immediately behind this individual, came a pale, poverty-stricken woman, whose forlorn aspect contrasted strongly with his plump and comfortable physiognomy. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately.
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