"You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Mr. ’ ‘Quite right, Gerald,’ approved Lucilla. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. She could no longer wait.
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