"When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. She sank upon her knees and unbuttoned his coat. I was afraid of being talked about. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads.
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