” Ennison took an easy chair. A brief calm succeeded. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. It was ended. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. Some of them are now buried at the bottom of the Thames. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. “Tut, tut!” he said. " "If you mean the fugitive, Darrell, he has escaped through the back window," replied Jonathan.
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