Ruth shivered; she was cold. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. “What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. You won't refuse me, I'm sure; so no more need be said about the matter.
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