"Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. ’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Back to Blaye, my girl. ‘She is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. . 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. "That I can't say.
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