And now she comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name) knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. " Upon which, he plunged his oars deeply into the stream, and the bark shot from the strand. A quarter of an hour passed. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg.
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