A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. Charvill does not believe the general will accept them. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead.
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