"How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. ‘Ah. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. "The doctor and I agreed to give you a chance—for her sake. We'll have him yet. It was a habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the colour which must draw attention.
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