They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. ‘Monsieur Charvill,’ pursued Valade, ‘has left the chateau, and since we have heard from him nothing at all, but for the letters to his daughter from Italy. The air was thick with feelings. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. "A doctor at once!" cried Ruth excitedly.
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