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The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. Under another name,—not my own hateful one,—I will strive to distinguish myself in some foreign service, and win myself a reputation, or perish honourably. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things.
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