Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. ‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. ‘Suzanne, if I may say, had also not the choice. ‘Do not look at me so,’ he snapped. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck.
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