The flight. I have been the vicomte’s secretary, remember. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. For nearly thirty years he had lived here in contented loneliness; then youth had to come and fill him with discontent. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer.
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