‘It is all the fault of that lantern. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. 266 She peered up at him. "I cannot do it. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. "But vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me.
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