‘Eh bien?’ ‘You are perfectly right, Melusine. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. It was too good to be true.
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