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On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. Can she stay for dinner?\" Michelle asked, almost begging. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. ‘Eh bien, you are not like Leonardo. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. She could feel her face turning beet red.
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