“What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily.
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