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While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. "You are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. She put her mouth on him. "Let me look at the paper. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene. Peste, she had forgot the sword. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred.
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