He shuddered. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. Why should I?” “At last,” he murmured, “at last I have found you. I do not intend to allow you to forget.
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