” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting. ” “No? But it is very simple. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Jeez! It was about time. “If you say so, my pet. .
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