She almost sprang to her feet. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door.
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