One day it was gone. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room.
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